Out in the desert where the wind never stops

A few simple people try to grow a few crops

Trying to maintain a life and a home

On land that was theirs before the Romans thought of Rome



A few dozen survivors, ragged but proud

With a few woolly sheep, under gathering cloud

It's never been easy, or free from strife

But the pulse of the land is the pulse of their life



(CHORUS:)

You thought it was over but it's just like before

Will there never be an end to the Indian wars?



It's not breech-loading rifles and wholesale slaughter

It's kickbacks and thugs and diverted water

Treaties get signed and the papers change hands

But they might as well draft these agreements in sand



Noble Savage on the cinema screen

An Indian's good when he cannot be seen

And the so-called white so-called race

Digs for itself a pit of disgrace



(Chorus)



(Toronto, January 25, 1990)